The Empty Grave
by hungrywhovianpotterhead
Summary: John Watson sat in 22B just staring at the wall, he didn't go out much anymore, mostly because after Sherlock died. No get it right after Sherlock killed himself, his leg had started to bug him again, his limp had come back full force, and people had slowly started to drift away, then he gets a call, from Inspector Lestrade, there's been a grave robbery.


**A/N alright so I know the whole Sherlock returning fic has been a really big thing lately, but I just want to share mine, I got this idea while on a facebook fan page which had posted something about the Empty Hearse being Moriarty's, and I got an idea, please read, this is mostly angst and reunion. Please forgive me if I break character, this is my first time writing Sherlock Fanfiction.**

**disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, but give me time, I plan to completely dethrone Moffat.**

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John Watson sat in 22B just staring at the wall, he didn't go out much anymore, mostly because after Sherlock died. No get it right after Sherlock killed himself, his leg had started to bug him again, his limp had come back full force, and people had slowly started to drift away once they realized that John was barely even living anymore, even Mrs. Hudson had started to keep her distance.

Though sometimes she would still come in and tidy up, though John didn't move enough to make any mess, it was probably so she could keep an eye on him, as he stared day and night at the wall where a faded smiley face still held bullet holes from when Sherlock had gotten bored and started to shoot it. He could still see him bouncing on the couch and coffee table shooting the wall, punctuating each shot by shouting bored.

John was pulled from his thoughts when his phone beeped. Picking it up he saw Lestrade's number flash on the screen, he contemplated hitting ignore and just going back to staring at the wall, but then sighed and answered the phone, "what is it Lestrade?" he said exasperation clear in his voice.

"John, there's been a grave robbery." John rubbed his forehead, and said "and why would you call me? I told you I was done with the investigations!" he was tempted to hang up, but then Lestrade answered, "I'm not asking you to investigate John. I just thought you would like to hear it from me instead of someone else. Someone stole Sherlock's remains."

John almost dropped the phone then, his eyes going wide, his free hand clutching tightly at the arm of the chair, "John? John are you there?" John nodded not trusting his voice, then remembering that he was talking on the phone, he said with a waver in his voice, "yeah Greg I'm here. When?" he asked choking on the word.

"sometime last night, the caretaker found the grave this morning." Lestrade said quietly, "are you okay John?" he asked, John swallowed to steady his voice, "yeah I'm fine Greg" he lied "hey I gotta go, I going to let Mrs. Hudson know." he said hanging up his phone robotically.  
"you're going to let me know what?" asked Mrs. Hudson from the doorway.

John looked up tears in the back of his eyes, "Someone stole his remains. They stole his body, all that was left of Sherlock, and they couldn't even let that be!" he stood suddenly and threw his phone, it crashed into the wall, and came apart scattering in a mess of circuits and plastic, then he pushed past Mrs. Hudson, pausing to grab his cane and went down the stairs. "John!" she called after him, but he ignored her, throwing open the door and walking out into the street.

Hailing a cab, he slid in and told the driver to take him to cemetery.

All the time he was wishing, hoping, and praying to whatever god may reside above that this was all a horrible prank that someone down at the precinct had put Lestrade up to, and that he would get there and the dirt covering his best friend would be undisturbed.

Before long the cab slid to a stop at the gates of the cemetery, he paid the driver and slid out, breathing in the earthy smell of the graveyard.

Walking forward he pushed the gate open and stepped inside, he hadn't been here since the day of the funeral, when Sherlock didn't listen to John's final request, and stayed quite dead. He started to make his way to the corner of the cemetery, where he could already see the tree where they had laid him down to rest underneath.

Each limping step he took he thought over and over, please don't be gone, please don't be gone.  
Until all that blocked his path was a mausoleum, and he almost lost his nerve, and turned tail and rune as fast as his bum leg could carry him to the gates, and away. But the uncertainty outweighed his desire to get away, that need to know, growing until he couldn't ignore.

Pushing past the mausoleum he stopped, and wished he had never come, the dirt over the grave was gone strewn about, as though a dog had come searching for a bone he had buried ages ago, the casket where they had laid Sherlock to rest was overturned beside the grave, and Sherlock was gone, he fell to his knees, his hands running up to his head pulling at his shaggy hair, and he felt tears springing to his eyes as he took it all in.

He didn't even notice the tall slender man, in the black coat and blue scarf, with a halo of dark hair over a set of piercing blue eyes step out from behind the tree, a look of sorrow on his face, as he opens his mouth and says, "Hello John."

John freezes and looks up slowly as though in a trance, disbelieving tears in his eyes, "Sh-Sh-Sh-Sh-Sherlock? Is it really you?" the man holds out a hand and say's "yes John."

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**please review lovelies**

**Sherlockian deductions be with you until next time allons-y!**


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